


strip me bare

by sxndazed



Series: klaine/cc valentine's challenge 2020 [9]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22646080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxndazed/pseuds/sxndazed
Summary: The acting doesn't stop when he leaves the stage.
Relationships: Chris Colfer/Darren Criss
Series: klaine/cc valentine's challenge 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620550
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	strip me bare

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Klaine/CC Valentine's Challenge 2020.
> 
> Prompt: "Only Us" from Dear Evan Hansen

The acting doesn't stop when he leaves the stage.

He leaves behind the role, but he doesn't lose the mask he's managed to put on. If anything, he just changes into another.

When he steps out of the stage door after washing his face and changing into something more casual, he preps himself. He's an extrovert; he loves being around people, but he's selective about it and how he acts with others. When he's with the people he wants to be with, he feels a sense of calmness that washes over him. When he's with people he doesn't want to be with, he feels manic and out of control and awkward and troubled.

He pushes the door open and is met with a small, screaming crowd, and the cool evening air hits his skin and makes his cheek pink. His face breaks into a smile, and he walks out to greet everyone. He does his best to speak to everyone individually. He's got a Sharpie in hand and scribbles away as he makes conversation. He laughs a little too loudly and speaks a little too quickly, but he stands there and listens because he's only here in this moment because of them.

It isn't that he's not himself when he's around other people and fans especially. It's that he's a heightened version of himself. He's more aware of everything he does, and he tries to micromanage his movements until it becomes just too much. His smile is a little too wide, and his voice is a little off.

It's still him, but it's also not quite him.

When he signs the last Playbill and takes the last selfie, he wishes everyone a goodnight and heads back in to grab his stuff. He's weary and his body aches, but he can't drop the mask, not yet. There are still cast and crew members around and fans that linger around the theater. There are people still out and about late into the evening, and he never knows for sure if they'll ignore him or stop him for a few words.

He's tired, but he's still going.

When he reaches his building, his mask drops a little. His posture relaxes, and his steps slow down just a tad. The exhaustion kicks in, and he can't stop yawning. He steps into the elevator and closes his eyes, waiting for the telltale ding.

He unlocks his door and opens it with a click before dropping his keys on the counter and leaving his bag by his desk. He's quick to step into the bathroom and turn on the shower. There's a clean shirt and boxers already there, and he smiles before stepping in.

The rest of the tension melts away when the hot water hits his back. His mask is off, and it's just him. Acting doesn't follow him home; he makes sure it doesn't. He's spent years trying to be the right fit and please people with the way he acts. When he's home, he doesn't have to try.

He dries off and moisturizes. He throws on his shirt and boxers and brushes his teeth. The exhaustion feels more distant, and his body revels in the comfort and warmth of being home. He throws his clothes in the hamper and clicks off the lights.

He's quiet when his feet pad against the hardwood floor. When he turns the knob of the bedroom door, he's slow and careful to not make too much noise. He slips under the covers and immediately moves towards the middle. He throws his arm around his waist and cuddles up behind him. He nuzzles his face into his neck and breathes in. It smells like their detergent and the lavender lotion he uses when he gets stressed.

It smells like  _ home. _

He hears a small rustle and feels him push back against him.

"How was the show?" It comes out a little raspy, his voice deep from sleep. He can hear the rumble of his chest and nuzzles in farther.

"It was good. Tiring. Go back to sleep."

"Can't. You're back," he mumbles.

His chest fills with warmth, and he aches at the words. He is so wholly himself in this moment and feels like his whole being is laid bare there for anyone to know.

"I am. Go to sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

"Promise?"

"Promise," he whispers into his ear. He leaves a kiss on the back of his neck.

"M'kay. Love you."

In this moment, in their bed, he doesn't act. He doesn't even know if he could act. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and he doesn't know how to hide it, not right now at least. He is around the man that knows him better than anyone else in the world. Chris knows his flaws and his quirks, his endless thoughts and his doubts. Chris knows that he worries that he'll fade away and nothing will matter in the future. Chris knows that he's afraid that people don't know how grateful he is for every moment and every opportunity he has and how he overthinks every movement he makes and every word he says. Chris knows when he's acting and when he isn't, and he's still here despite everything. Chris  _ knows _ him, and he feels safe.

He feels at home.

"Love you too."

He holds Chris tightly against him and falls asleep.


End file.
